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Oddly enough, it was only about a half-hour into the test drive before I felt ready to turn the Veyron loose. It usually takes much more settling-in time for me to be comfortable with really cracking the whip over an unfamiliar car on unfamiliar roads, especially a car with 1001 horsepower and a mach-speed reputation.

But after a few miles of cruising quiet French lanes and making progressively faster sprints through the gears, I was pretty confident with the thing. Tremendous acceleration, yeah, but still completely civilized and dead easy to drive; your dear old aunt could idle it along to Sunday School. So once I found a nice healthy hole in traffic on the four-lane near the Bugatti factory in Molsheim, I eased it up to about 70, took a good look around and boldly stomped the throttle toward the floor.

The genteelly muted engine rumble behind me instantly erupted into a bellowing B-movie Tyrannosaurus Rex and the power spike slammed the seat against my back so hard I honestly thought the rear end of the car had exploded. My foot couldn’t have came off that accelerator any faster if the pedal was wired up to a wall socket, and I shrieked out loud like a little girl.

Fast? Oh Lordie yes, it’s fast, two-and-a-bit genuine seconds to sixty, 250 certified mph fast, and I’m sure anyone who can read knows that by now. The interesting thing, though, is it’s a different kind of fast, and in more ways than the Jekyll and Hyde act. The difference is obvious merely from the car’s appearance; it’s more obvious still after a back-to-back drive in the last Bugatti to claim the “Fastest” title, the late, great EB110.

You don’t hear that much about the EB110 any more, which speaks volumes about the surge in supercar performance over the past decade or so. In the early ’90s, however, the 110 was King of the Hill. With a 3.5-liter, 553 horse V-12, a 0-60 mph time of 3.4 seconds and a 213-mph top speed, it out-paced the Ferrari F40, and it’s still faster than many of the newer machines you’ll find occupying internet ultimate-supercar fantasy lists.

Launched in 1991, it was the first production car with a carbon-fiber monocoque (just nipping the McLaren F1), the first with quad turbos, and featured full-time four-wheel drive-and you can bet the farm the Volkswagen Group engineers of the 4WD, quad turbo, carbon-chassis Veyron gave the 110 a thorough once-over during their design deliberations.

Any similarities between the two cars, though, are strictly acquired characteristics; they share no bloodlines whatsoever. This particular Bugatti revival was an Italian project from the start. Organized by entrepreneur and former Ferrari dealer Romano Artioli, and drawing on largely former-Lamborghini talent, including Miura/Countach/Diablo stylist Marcello Gandini, the enterprise was even located outside Modena, the better to soak up positive Karma.

It worked, too, at least until the combination of over-expansion and global recession killed the company in ’95. The EB110 was not only the Fastest, it was good enough that young Michael Schumacher bought one out of his very own money, and kept it well into his Ferrari years.

That it’s microscopically slower than the Veyron should only be of real world consequence if you’re fussy about exactly what size cannon you’re being shot out of. The lightweight, 603 horsepower Super Sport version of the EB110 we’re driving here is actually three-tenths and seven mph faster than the “base” car and, although there’s significant low-rpm turbo lag, when the fans start to whistle at four grand, you’d better have hold of something solid: life is about to get interesting.

It’s also a pretty substantial, well-built and agile piece of machinery, with nicely responsive brakes and steering and a precise six-speed manual transmission. On the open road it drives smaller and lighter than it is and you can zip into corners with a little heel and toe dance on the pedals and the V-12 singing, and come out the other side with a smile.

The problem is getting it to the open road in the first place. Everyday driving isn’t the car’s strong suit: the mirrors are virtually useless, the frame of the cute little tollbooth side window is perfectly positioned for blocking peripheral vision, gentle launches leave it stumbling off the line, and it has the turning circle of an aircraft carrier. City driving is like flying an F16 inside the hanger, and the only viable lane change technique on crowded expressways is stab the power and trust you’ll blast into the gap before anybody else can get there. In short, it’s every inch a true Italian exotic.

The Veyron, on the other hand, definitely ain’t. It is indeed shatteringly fast, even after you know what’s coming if you kick it, yet eminently drivable; the flexible 8-liter W-16 is never short of grunt, and much of the typical supercar silliness simply isn’t there. The doors, for example, open like doors (and I’m sorry Marcello, but that scissor-hinge idea is as silly as they come), the interior is cozy and sumptuous, and except for the blind rear quarters, you can actually see out of it, by exotic standards anyway.

Which is not to say the Veyron lacks silliness of its own: the electronic parking brake is a pain, a tiny press-and-hold toggle thingie hidden down beside the seat track, the only surface without a big “EB” on it is the windshield, and imagine, if you dare, the exposed engine bay after five rainy minutes trailing behind a semi in a construction zone. It’s probably best, too, we don’t discuss the million-plus price tag and the upkeep costs. Those rear tires are not only almost as wide as the first VW Beetle sold in America, they’re about ten times as expensive, and last just slightly longer than a bag of Oreos at a Deadhead reunion.

If the EB 110 is a traditional supercar of the race-rep persuasion, then the Veyron, it’s generally acknowledged, is quite possibly the definitive gentleman’s Gran Turismo. Or more properly, if truth be told, the definitive Grand Routier. That’s rather likely what VW had in mind when it bought the Bugatti name, returned it to its old home in Molsheim, and hung a good deal of brand-image corporate cred on building this car-a resurrection of the great French pre-war Grand Routier blend of performance, luxury, elegance, and style.

It’s a different concept from a modern GT; companies like Delahaye, Voisin, and of course Bugatti itself weren’t concerned with merely producing fast, roadable cars that looked good. They were concerned with creating high-speed Art Deco, unique cars of presence and personality that went as audaciously as they looked; it’s no coincidence that Ettore Bugatti came from a family of artists, you can see it in his automobiles, and that, not simply their speed, is what makes the name worth owning today.

And love the Veyron or hate it, you gotta give the guys credit: with every other car in the ultimate-supercar sweepstakes sticking firmly to the Le Mans-car-with-leather principle, building a Fastest by the classic formula of Talbot Lago and Delage took some real stones.

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